


Martha

by Wandering_Moose



Category: Starbound (Video Game)
Genre: Backstory, Drinking, Ooze, Relationship Fluff, Smoking, Starbound OC, Suicidal Tendencies, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 15:27:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9331478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wandering_Moose/pseuds/Wandering_Moose
Summary: Operator, number, please, It's been so many years. Will she remember my old voice while I fight the tears?





	

The night on volcanic planets was always so beautiful. You could see the glow from the magma and steam rising up into the black sky, the distant light from asteroids flying by through space... one of the most gorgeous things you could witness with your own two (or three) eyes if you had the gall to find a planet like that and spend the day on it.

Vomit used to love doing this, but nowadays he couldn't bring himself to. Too many nice memories, too many ghosts to remember, too many difficult thoughts to creep back into his head while he'd be mesmerized by the shooting stars and distant glow of magma pools.

But tonight... tonight was different. He was alone (Starkchain was going on paid leave for repairs) and none of his acquaintances were available at this hour. It was just Vomit, a tungsten chair, a box of Novakid cigarillos, and an entire gallon jug of Moonshine. If you watched him drink, you could just barely make out the liquid moving down his throat and through him.

It had all started... way too long ago, he guessed. Couldn't even remember the exact year if he tried. He was nearing a hundred and thirty now, it had been ages since he crawled out of that 45 foot vat of Agent Orange that had been mixed with some kind of Anthrax paste. Hell if he even knew how he wound up in the damn thing- there were boots in the bottom of the vat, maybe he fell in before or something. All he had on his back when he spurned forth from that vat was a hat, a faded silver wedding band, and clothes he took of a Deadbeat's corpse.

But, crawling out of that vat was probably the worst mistake he could've made.

He had plenty of memories left over from when he was... someone- maybe something else. Memories of friends, of family, of his wife...

His wife. His beautiful, loving, perfect-in-every-way wife. Evelyn. He couldn't remember her last name, but he still had the Outpost she was living on bookmarked. He always thought he should stop by and visit, but he never actually managed to get past the front door of the building her apartment was in... except that one time.

But now it was just him and Starkchain, who more often than not would short out and temporarily deactivate.

It was a lonely, lonely life when you worked as an agent for the Interstellar Bureau of Affairs. It was even worse when you got the shaft and your boss saddled you with the cases that nobody could finish or that they hadn't wanted. Interspecies pedophilia, chasing serial killers, missing person investigation, spending all day waiting to testify in court... not very fun.

_He had been about to walk up to her apartment, when he saw her being twirled around and hugged by another man. Three little kids were doing what kids did best- mucking around in the hallway. The man had set her down and scooped up the little girl in his arms, and spun her around just like her mother. The kids laughed, the man smiled, Evelyn watched with nothing but happiness on her face._

Vomit took another drink and lit up a cigarillo. The white alcohol slowly slithered down his throat and into his belly. He blew a smoke ring into the air, the silver smoke contrasting with the black night beautifully.

_He had stood in the hallway, as still as a statue. There was a shiny golden ring on her finger, and one on his to match. He could feel his heart in his throat, his guts tying themselves into constrictor knots, his breath catching in his throat. If he had been the crying type, he would have probably started sobbing into his jacket's sleeve._

A volcano in the distance erupted, turning the sky blood red and making the moon look even more orange.

Vomit had had so many aspirations with her that he could remember. He had proposed (and had sworn up and down that he would get her a real gold band instead of a cheap silver one for her hand), he had wanted to settle down and start a family... none of that was happening. She had been adamant that silver was fine, but he had wanted to only bring home the best for her.

A sniffle later, all they saw was a suspiciously sad looking slime man with his jacket fluttering in the wind. A quiet “I'm glad you're happy.”, and then he was gone. They probably wouldn't even remember him by tomorrow. The only thing he hadn't seen was the look of shock on her face as he hurried out the door.

He flung the stub of what was left of his cigarillo into a nearby puddle of magma and lit up another.

Who was he kidding? He didn't have much of anything anymore. He blinked, and started to quietly cry. Nobody was around to see him anyway, he didn't have any reason to care here. He'd be gone by morning.

Long gone were his favorite memories, the time of roses, poetry, and prose when all he had was her and all she had was him. When tomorrow hadn't mattered, and they could put off their worries. He supposed she was lucky, he was young and impulsive- still was... she had found someone to make her feel secure, better than when he was young and foolish.

Maybe he should call her.

But would she even remember his old voice?

He'd probably cry... maybe they could have coffee and talk about it all.

No, he probably wouldn't do it. He could set a goal, but he was kidding himself if he even thought it would be attainable. He'd make some excuse- work, he was tired, he was close to cracking a case (not really...)... who knew. He'd bullshit himself when it came along.

He chugged the last of his moonshine and threw his (now-empty) cigarillo box into a lava pool nearby. Back when he wasn't an Ooze, his doctor had sent him away to a specialist. He had been diagnosed with throat cancer. Thank Crystal Space Jesus that he didn't have to worry about that anymore.

When he came home with the news, he had cried. She had cried.

Maybe their being together just wasn't meant to be.

Vomit stood and walked over to the edge of a lava pool that was steaming and bubbling.

He didn't have much to offer to anyone anymore. An exhausted demeanor, a voice like a rusted lawnmower, little to no useful material things... he wasn't even much to look at anymore. His ship was falling apart just like he was.

He had no real friends except for Starkchain (who was probably due for a routine reboot that would leave him dormant for months). Sure, he had met people... but he doubted they really liked him. Ward, Haamu, Abibibi (although he had his suspicions about him)... he wasn't much to them, probably.

He could have gone limp right then and there, fallen into that lava and disappeared forever. Nobody would care, he was old and alone anyway. No friends, his ship would probably go to Starkchain, and there'd be no trace of him left.

He was tired of it all. Tired of being lonely, tired of taking cases that made him want to sympathy cry, tired of being dirt poor and not being able to repair his ship because the Bureau was shafting him on pay...

“Fuck it.” he muttered.

No more sadness, no more dead end pr sad cases, no more pretending to be happy when he was more miserable than he had ever been in his life. No more, never again.

As he relaxed his legs and began to lean towards the lava, his comms unit beeped.

He paused to check it instinctively. It was Starkchain.

“Informative. Captain Vomit, we have a report coming in from the nearby Nuhuya Minoris System, planet Alpha Beta Sei 69 V, Flytrap District. There has been another sighting of the Glitch Kluex Missionary, this time preaching his word to the Floran.” Starkchain beeped.

“Please, just call me Vomit. We've been over this. Do people seem interested in him?”

“Affirmative. Yes, Vomit, several Florans have accepted copies of his religious texts and one of them looks ready to leave with him.”

“Fuck. I'm on my way.”

His much-wanted death was going to have to wait for another day.

Vomit ended the call, and looked up one last time before beaming up to his ship.

The moon was up in the sky, as red as a grapefruit. How beautiful.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to elaborate on Vomit's backstory for my friends- we have our own little universe thing going on. It's pretty nice.


End file.
